ARC 6-Winter War-08
The latest arrival moves to the center of the room and wastes no time getting to business. “Thank you, everyone, for coming. My name is Simone, a consul attached to the Shadow Wolf guild. For those unaware of what my title means, I facilitate cooperation between guilds and third parties. I say that to assure you that I have experience in these matters so if you would all allow me to guide this meeting, we can have this settled and done with shortly.”
Hanging from his waist is a plain wooden tube. He takes it in his hands and takes off the cap, dumping several rolled-up documents into his opposite palm. “I have here with me the requests from each of the guilds participating in this campaign. Each of you should have the authority to negotiate on behalf of your guild. If you don’t have this power, please leave and retrieve someone with that power so we don’t waste our collective time.”
When no one moved, he nodded. “Good.” He unfurls the papers. “Mr. Howie? Would you join me?”
The halfling hesitates but at my nod, he moves from behind his counter to stand at the consul’s side, shoulders hunched and eyes dubious.
“Excellent. We will start with the terms listed by the Steelskin guild. They request that Mr. Howie produces twenty barrels of Shroom Inferno to be provided every month throughout the duration of the campaign for the sum of one gold crown per barrel.”
“Twenty barrels?!” Kimbleford shouts. “Are you planning to send an army?”
“We are big men,” Bearksin says evenly. “The cold is the most dangerous enemy in the north.”
“You may all be muscle brains but you’re not deceiving me. Do you mean to hoard the whole stock for yourself? The brewer is only one man. Lower your request by half, at least.”
“Impossible. We will be the first, pushing a way forward through snow and frost. Keeping warm is important.”
“You—”
“Maybe you should ask the brewer?” Howie scoffs as he scratches the back of an ear. “I expanded operations for this deal. I can handle the twenty for them while supplying the rest of you. As long as they can pay the gold.”
Bearskin inclines his head. “You have our thanks.”
“Prefer your money but sure.”
Simone pulls a smudgestick from his pocket and writes on his papers. “Good. Moving on to the Torchbearers.”
Cordy clears his throat as he gets to his feet. “A question first.” Simone waves for him to continue. “This Shroom Sanity. We’ve heard that it can defend against the mental affinity?”
“It doesn’t defend against anything. No brew exists that can block mana intrusion, to my knowledge. Sanity dampens your thoughts, makes them harder to read without mana intrusion. Also gets you drunk.”
“Very good. Consul Simone, you may continue.”
“The Torchbearers ask for three barrels of Inferno and five barrels of Inferno.”
“We are not so big,” Cordy says with a chuckle, inclining his head to the Steelskin table.
“Our men will protect the skinny casters,” Bearskin says with an amused huff. It sounds exactly how I imagine a bear might chuckle.
“Always appreciate your work, my good man.”
“They are offering one gold per barrel.”
“Hah?!” Howie exclaims. “No way! Do you know what I have to grind up for Sanity? Make it five and I’m still barely making a profit.” I don’t believe him for a moment.
“Acceptable.” The older caster agrees immediately. “I came prepared to pay more. Such a valuable drink must have expensive ingredients.”
“Hmph. At least your guild sent someone with sense.”
“Another easy one down,” I hear Simone mutter under his breath as he scribbles on his papers. “Suppose we should handle the most troublesome next.” He clears his throat and projects at a normal volume. “Now for the terms proposed by the Seventh Sons. They are asking for seven barrels of Inferno, seven of Sanity, and two bottles of Twilight Haze—”
I gape in surprise as Howie swears several unkind words in elven. “How do you bastards know about that?!”
Kimbleford scoffs. “We are a guild of nobles. Don’t underestimate us. Did you think word wouldn’t get out after selling such a valuable item?”
Simone clears his throat. “As I was saying, two bottles of Twilight Haze along with two crates of leisure drinks to be decided at the representative’s discretion. Also, they would like to contract Mr. Howie to brew numbing potions—”
“I’ve told you bastards, I ain’t no hedge witch!”
“—energy potions, and to investigate the alchemical worth of any creatures slain by the guild.”
“And now you’re asking me to look at corpses!”
“We’ve seen you buying monster corpses. Even the useless ones. No doubt they’re the key to the strange potency of your beverages. You are clearly an expert on manabeasts and their uses, whatever you want to call yourself. The Seventh Sons have no intention of being cheated out of well-deserved gold by those Victory fools.”
“For the barrels, they are willing to offer a gold crown per. For the two bottles of Twilight Haze, they offer one hundred gold crowns per. For the crate of miscellaneous drinks, the price is to be determined upon their selection. For the service of Mr. Howie as a brewer and adviser, they offer to pay for his lodgings and equipment along with another hundred gold crowns per month for the duration of the winter.”
“You bastards are worse than nooners!” Howie snaps. “No!”
“Can you be more specific on which request you have a problem with?” Simone asks drolly.
“I’m not giving any of you so much as a drop of Haze!”
He turns his placid gaze to the young lord. “Lord Kimbleford—”
“I’ll raise our offer to one hundred twenty gold crowns.”
“No.”
“One-fifty.”
“No!”
“Two hundred.”
“How many times do I have to say it, you stubborn bastard?!”
Seeing Kimbleford’s eyes narrow, I slip from my stool and walk to Howie’s side. Time to do some work. He flinches as I lay a hand on his shoulder but quickly relaxes. In fact, he smiles viciously.
“Excuse the interruption but I want to know exactly what this Haze stuff is that it’s got that man’s vest in a bunch.”
“And you are?” Simone asks me.
“Lourianne Tome. Howie’s adviser.”
“I see. Quite appropriate.” He looks a bit too relieved. “Perhaps you would like a moment to discuss this matter with your client.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I pull the brewer aside and bring our heads together to whisper, “Do you want to tell me what this stuff is?”
Howie sighs as he runs a hand through his messy hair. “Haze is…the dusky told you about the clans, right? How they…work?”
“You mean how they kidnap powerful creatures or individuals and forcefully mate with them? Yeah, she told me all about it along with a strong warning not to go traipsing around that part of the continent alone.”
“Ha! That’s putting it mildly. Haze is kind of like their signature potion. It’s, uh, a really powerful fertility aid. One good cup sends just about anything into heat and just about guarantees the, uh, union will be, er, fruitful.”
I resist an urge to roll my eyes. “Thank you for your consideration of my sensibilities but can you get to the point?”
“Well, it uh…” He tugs a droopy ear. “It enhances pleasure, a lot. It also makes the affected a bit more…open to suggestions. Someone could use it—”
I cut him off with a hiss. “I know what someone could do with something like that, you idiot! You sold this to someone?”
“Hey, don’t look at me like that. Like I said, it’s primarily a fertility aid. I sometimes sell the stuff to couples that are having a hard time conceiving. A cup of it that I pour and watch them drink. I’ve seen it misused and I won’t be a part of it.”
“Okay. That’s not too bad.” Pretty decent of him, actually. I glance at Kimbleford, who is glaring at us with clear impatience. “I doubt the Seventh Sons have your noble intentions or restraint.”
“You see why I can’t give it to them? What would they even need it for if they’re going to fight?”
“There’s always time for other things. Come on.” I pull him back to Simone. “We’re going to insist on our denial to provide Twilight haze.”
“Three hundred gold crowns.”
“We’ve already said no multiple times. Money isn’t the issue. Let’s get on with it.”
The young lord gets to his feet. “Now, see here. I was explicitly asked not to leave this bar without securing the Twilight Haze. So, it would suit everyone if you could tell me what price would get past your reluctance or whatever else is holding you back and quit wasting my time.”
“It’s not for sale, you twit!” Howie barks.
“Mind your words, barkeeper. Our guild recognizes the worth of your wares and is willing to pay you a fair price for them. However, if you continue to refuse us, we will have no choice but to resort to less polite ways of asking.”
Simone frowned. “There will be no threats at this meeting.”
“A threat? Surely not. I was simply—” He cuts off as he spots me approaching him at a leisurely pace, smile on my lips. “You’re his adviser? You should explain to him the folly of—”
I grab him by the front of his vest. This close I can smell traces of perfume on him. The same kind his nervous maid is wearing. Yeah, really don’t want to imagine what this kind of swine will do with an aphrodisiac concocted by perpetually horny elves.
“What are you doing? Let go of me!”
“That was definitely a threat earlier. And I’m here to make sure everyone understands threatening Howie is bad. Don’t do it again.”
His eyes begin to glow. “I won’t ask you to remove your hand again.”
“Hey!” Merven shouts, rising from his chair. “Kimble, don’t you dare!”
The young lord ignores him. I see his shoulders move, a prequel to him raising a hand. He could be preparing a spell or simply moving on to the next phase of his threats. After all, the hunters have made it clear they will intervene if he attacks.
I don’t wait to find out.
Before he can finish the gesture, I smack him. Lightly.
His face snaps to the side, blood spraying. Something small and white skips across the floor, sliding to a stop at Cordy’s feet. The older man picks up the tooth with a raised brow.
Kimbleford stares at me with wide-eyes and a bleeding mouth.
“Are you going to act like you have some sense now?” I ask into the poignant silence.
His shock collapses to anger but his eyes lose their glow, the man at least having the experience to understand he is disadvantaged at this distance. “I’ll have your head for this.”
I toss him away with a scoff.
Simone clears his throat. “If all parties are ready to continue? Good. Mr. Howie agrees to provide seven barrels of Inferno, seven barrels of Sanity for the agreed upon prices.”
“Yeah,” the brewer says. “And I’m not going north.”
“One more thing,” I say while staring Kimbleford down. “They stated that the agreement lasts for the whole of winter. Howie is only working for you all for the campaign.”
“Oi! You crafty bastards!”
Kimbleford clicks his teeth. “The north isn’t the only place that gets cold. We’ll have more work throughout the winter.”
“You’ve been keeping yourselves warm for years without assistance. He works for the duration of the campaign, from Quest.”
Kimbleford waves a dismissive hand. “Fine. The man does himself no favors.”
“Good.” Simone marks his paper. “Let’s continue.”
ARC 6-Winter War-08
The latest arrival moves to the center of the room and wastes no time getting to business. “Thank you, everyone, for coming. My name is Simone, a consul attached to the Shadow Wolf guild. For those unaware of what my title means, I facilitate cooperation between guilds and third parties. I say that to assure you that I have experience in these matters so if you would all allow me to guide this meeting, we can have this settled and done with shortly.”
Hanging from his waist is a plain wooden tube. He takes it in his hands and takes off the cap, dumping several rolled-up documents into his opposite palm. “I have here with me the requests from each of the guilds participating in this campaign. Each of you should have the authority to negotiate on behalf of your guild. If you don’t have this power, please leave and retrieve someone with that power so we don’t waste our collective time.”
When no one moved, he nodded. “Good.” He unfurls the papers. “Mr. Howie? Would you join me?”
The halfling hesitates but at my nod, he moves from behind his counter to stand at the consul’s side, shoulders hunched and eyes dubious.
“Excellent. We will start with the terms listed by the Steelskin guild. They request that Mr. Howie produces twenty barrels of Shroom Inferno to be provided every month throughout the duration of the campaign for the sum of one gold crown per barrel.”
“Twenty barrels?!” Kimbleford shouts. “Are you planning to send an army?”
“We are big men,” Bearksin says evenly. “The cold is the most dangerous enemy in the north.”
“You may all be muscle brains but you’re not deceiving me. Do you mean to hoard the whole stock for yourself? The brewer is only one man. Lower your request by half, at least.”
“Impossible. We will be the first, pushing a way forward through snow and frost. Keeping warm is important.”
“You—”
“Maybe you should ask the brewer?” Howie scoffs as he scratches the back of an ear. “I expanded operations for this deal. I can handle the twenty for them while supplying the rest of you. As long as they can pay the gold.”
Bearskin inclines his head. “You have our thanks.”
“Prefer your money but sure.”
Simone pulls a smudgestick from his pocket and writes on his papers. “Good. Moving on to the Torchbearers.”
Cordy clears his throat as he gets to his feet. “A question first.” Simone waves for him to continue. “This Shroom Sanity. We’ve heard that it can defend against the mental affinity?”
“It doesn’t defend against anything. No brew exists that can block mana intrusion, to my knowledge. Sanity dampens your thoughts, makes them harder to read without mana intrusion. Also gets you drunk.”
“Very good. Consul Simone, you may continue.”
“The Torchbearers ask for three barrels of Inferno and five barrels of Inferno.”
“We are not so big,” Cordy says with a chuckle, inclining his head to the Steelskin table.
“Our men will protect the skinny casters,” Bearskin says with an amused huff. It sounds exactly how I imagine a bear might chuckle.
“Always appreciate your work, my good man.”
“They are offering one gold per barrel.”
“Hah?!” Howie exclaims. “No way! Do you know what I have to grind up for Sanity? Make it five and I’m still barely making a profit.” I don’t believe him for a moment.
“Acceptable.” The older caster agrees immediately. “I came prepared to pay more. Such a valuable drink must have expensive ingredients.”
“Hmph. At least your guild sent someone with sense.”
“Another easy one down,” I hear Simone mutter under his breath as he scribbles on his papers. “Suppose we should handle the most troublesome next.” He clears his throat and projects at a normal volume. “Now for the terms proposed by the Seventh Sons. They are asking for seven barrels of Inferno, seven of Sanity, and two bottles of Twilight Haze—”
I gape in surprise as Howie swears several unkind words in elven. “How do you bastards know about that?!”
Kimbleford scoffs. “We are a guild of nobles. Don’t underestimate us. Did you think word wouldn’t get out after selling such a valuable item?”
Simone clears his throat. “As I was saying, two bottles of Twilight Haze along with two crates of leisure drinks to be decided at the representative’s discretion. Also, they would like to contract Mr. Howie to brew numbing potions—”
“I’ve told you bastards, I ain’t no hedge witch!”
“—energy potions, and to investigate the alchemical worth of any creatures slain by the guild.”
“And now you’re asking me to look at corpses!”
“We’ve seen you buying monster corpses. Even the useless ones. No doubt they’re the key to the strange potency of your beverages. You are clearly an expert on manabeasts and their uses, whatever you want to call yourself. The Seventh Sons have no intention of being cheated out of well-deserved gold by those Victory fools.”
“For the barrels, they are willing to offer a gold crown per. For the two bottles of Twilight Haze, they offer one hundred gold crowns per. For the crate of miscellaneous drinks, the price is to be determined upon their selection. For the service of Mr. Howie as a brewer and adviser, they offer to pay for his lodgings and equipment along with another hundred gold crowns per month for the duration of the winter.”
“You bastards are worse than nooners!” Howie snaps. “No!”
“Can you be more specific on which request you have a problem with?” Simone asks drolly.
“I’m not giving any of you so much as a drop of Haze!”
He turns his placid gaze to the young lord. “Lord Kimbleford—”
“I’ll raise our offer to one hundred twenty gold crowns.”
“No.”
“One-fifty.”
“No!”
“Two hundred.”
“How many times do I have to say it, you stubborn bastard?!”
Seeing Kimbleford’s eyes narrow, I slip from my stool and walk to Howie’s side. Time to do some work. He flinches as I lay a hand on his shoulder but quickly relaxes. In fact, he smiles viciously.
“Excuse the interruption but I want to know exactly what this Haze stuff is that it’s got that man’s vest in a bunch.”
“And you are?” Simone asks me.
“Lourianne Tome. Howie’s adviser.”
“I see. Quite appropriate.” He looks a bit too relieved. “Perhaps you would like a moment to discuss this matter with your client.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I pull the brewer aside and bring our heads together to whisper, “Do you want to tell me what this stuff is?”
Howie sighs as he runs a hand through his messy hair. “Haze is…the dusky told you about the clans, right? How they…work?”
“You mean how they kidnap powerful creatures or individuals and forcefully mate with them? Yeah, she told me all about it along with a strong warning not to go traipsing around that part of the continent alone.”
“Ha! That’s putting it mildly. Haze is kind of like their signature potion. It’s, uh, a really powerful fertility aid. One good cup sends just about anything into heat and just about guarantees the, uh, union will be, er, fruitful.”
I resist an urge to roll my eyes. “Thank you for your consideration of my sensibilities but can you get to the point?”
“Well, it uh…” He tugs a droopy ear. “It enhances pleasure, a lot. It also makes the affected a bit more…open to suggestions. Someone could use it—”
I cut him off with a hiss. “I know what someone could do with something like that, you idiot! You sold this to someone?”
“Hey, don’t look at me like that. Like I said, it’s primarily a fertility aid. I sometimes sell the stuff to couples that are having a hard time conceiving. A cup of it that I pour and watch them drink. I’ve seen it misused and I won’t be a part of it.”
“Okay. That’s not too bad.” Pretty decent of him, actually. I glance at Kimbleford, who is glaring at us with clear impatience. “I doubt the Seventh Sons have your noble intentions or restraint.”
“You see why I can’t give it to them? What would they even need it for if they’re going to fight?”
“There’s always time for other things. Come on.” I pull him back to Simone. “We’re going to insist on our denial to provide Twilight haze.”
“Three hundred gold crowns.”
“We’ve already said no multiple times. Money isn’t the issue. Let’s get on with it.”
The young lord gets to his feet. “Now, see here. I was explicitly asked not to leave this bar without securing the Twilight Haze. So, it would suit everyone if you could tell me what price would get past your reluctance or whatever else is holding you back and quit wasting my time.”
“It’s not for sale, you twit!” Howie barks.
“Mind your words, barkeeper. Our guild recognizes the worth of your wares and is willing to pay you a fair price for them. However, if you continue to refuse us, we will have no choice but to resort to less polite ways of asking.”
Simone frowned. “There will be no threats at this meeting.”
“A threat? Surely not. I was simply—” He cuts off as he spots me approaching him at a leisurely pace, smile on my lips. “You’re his adviser? You should explain to him the folly of—”
I grab him by the front of his vest. This close I can smell traces of perfume on him. The same kind his nervous maid is wearing. Yeah, really don’t want to imagine what this kind of swine will do with an aphrodisiac concocted by perpetually horny elves.
“What are you doing? Let go of me!”
“That was definitely a threat earlier. And I’m here to make sure everyone understands threatening Howie is bad. Don’t do it again.”
His eyes begin to glow. “I won’t ask you to remove your hand again.”
“Hey!” Merven shouts, rising from his chair. “Kimble, don’t you dare!”
The young lord ignores him. I see his shoulders move, a prequel to him raising a hand. He could be preparing a spell or simply moving on to the next phase of his threats. After all, the hunters have made it clear they will intervene if he attacks.
I don’t wait to find out.
Before he can finish the gesture, I smack him. Lightly.
His face snaps to the side, blood spraying. Something small and white skips across the floor, sliding to a stop at Cordy’s feet. The older man picks up the tooth with a raised brow.
Kimbleford stares at me with wide-eyes and a bleeding mouth.
“Are you going to act like you have some sense now?” I ask into the poignant silence.
His shock collapses to anger but his eyes lose their glow, the man at least having the experience to understand he is disadvantaged at this distance. “I’ll have your head for this.”
I toss him away with a scoff.
Simone clears his throat. “If all parties are ready to continue? Good. Mr. Howie agrees to provide seven barrels of Inferno, seven barrels of Sanity for the agreed upon prices.”
“Yeah,” the brewer says. “And I’m not going north.”
“One more thing,” I say while staring Kimbleford down. “They stated that the agreement lasts for the whole of winter. Howie is only working for you all for the campaign.”
“Oi! You crafty bastards!”
Kimbleford clicks his teeth. “The north isn’t the only place that gets cold. We’ll have more work throughout the winter.”
“You’ve been keeping yourselves warm for years without assistance. He works for the duration of the campaign, from Quest.”
Kimbleford waves a dismissive hand. “Fine. The man does himself no favors.”
“Good.” Simone marks his paper. “Let’s continue.”
